Left in the Dark
by An Old User
Summary: Strangers With Candy: A storm knocks out the power at school, and Geoffrey gets locked in the boiler room. ChuckGeoffrey


Title: Left In the Dark

Rating: PG-13 (For swearing and occasional gratuitous moments)

Summary: A storm knocks out the power at school, and Geoffrey gets locked in the boiler room.

Pairings: Chuck/Geoffrey

Warning: It's a two-parter!

Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person). Any mention of 'Strangers With Candy', any associated entites, or any copywrited material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976, and is not intended to infringe upon any copywrited material.

2:36 pm, Friday Afternoon- Geoffrey

I hate dark places. The dark scares the hell out of me. Anything could be anywhere, and how am I supposed to know? In the dark, it's all too easy for the familiar to become unfamiliar, for things to change without warning.

I suppose that's why Chuck feels so at home in the dark. He's never seemed very comfortable with being himself, and it makes it easier for him to pretend. As much as I love our games, I often feel that Chuck's dependant on them. There is the occasional time (usually make-up sex), when we don't hide under a persona, but it's generally taken for granted that we find someone else to be first. So we pick, and once we're really going, off goes the light.

Don't get me wrong, I have no problem doing it with the light off. No preference, really. If Chuck's with me, why should I care what could be lurking in a corner? Why should I give it a second thought? I'm usually too occupied with other things. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't focus on scary stuff.

But right now, Chuck isn't down here with me. So there isn't anything nice to focus on. There isn't anyone to hold me close, his hands sliding a little farther down than necessary for innocent comfort. No one to say something rational, to give me a firm "Goddammit Geoffrey, it's just your imagination."

What keeps creeping into my head is not a comforting voice, but the sound of what could be the boiler, but is more probably the hiss of some long departed soul that died down here, and never went to its rest, but continued to stew at its terrible fate and swore vengeance on the school, hoping to lure as many as it could down here so that it could drive them mad until they die too, and share the miserable creature's terrifying fate, doomed to haunt the boiler room, withering away into a semi-conscious being of hatred and fear.

I whimper and hug my knees. The sound seems louder, so I start humming quietly, hoping to drown it out.

I need to get out of here.

6:45 am, Friday Morning- Chuck

I pull into the parking lot just before my brakes fail. Sonofabitch. I wasn't going fast to start with, and that's a really good thing. I line up with a parking spot at the end of the lot, and coast. The car slides through the water, and stops when it gets to the spot, jolting against the concrete safety block. That'll be just great for the bumper. I imagine the dent won't pass Claire's inspection when I get home.

I turn off the car, pull the keys out and look out the window. The rain has picked up, and the wind is blowing it so hard it falls slanted. I knew I should've brought a raincoat. I grab my briefcase, pull out some of the students' essays to use as an umbrella, and prepare to go.

Locking the car, I step out into the rain. By the time the door's closed, the essays are pulp. I drop the useless mess and start running. It had been getting warmer this week, but the rain must not have gotten the memo. It's chilling out here, and the wind makes it freezing. I shudder as I run, trying to see through my dripping glasses.

There's the sound of feet splashing through puddles, and an umbrella is hoisted over my head. It blocks out all of the rain and most of the wind. The gray storm light is converted to pink as it passes through the brightly colored plastic.

"That's better." Geoffrey is bundled up, wearing a raincoat and, it seems, two more coats underneath. I can tell because it's made him look far larger that he normally is. Still, he's a smart cookie. He read the weather reports instead of listening to a harpy screech at him all morning. Geoffrey grins at me from under a couple different hoods. "Forget your umbrella? And your coat?"

I roll my eyes and give him a depreciating glance (or as close as I can get whilst dripping wet and shivering) and shoot back "I didn't feel like going for the puffy marshmallow look today."

He's adorably miffed at that, and huffs. "Fine. I can tell when I'm not needed." He quickens his stride, and I'm suddenly back in the freezing world of rain. The drops pelt my face, and now it's impossible to see anything but a mess of gray.

"Geoffrey, wait!" Ugh, it looks like I'm going to have to apologize. I can't stand the thought, it makes me uncomfortable, but the rain dripping down my underwear is even worse, so I shout, "Sorry, I didn't mean it!"

His voice responds from a few feet in front of me. "So you do need me?"

I walk towards him "Yes, sure, whatever!"

I hear his feet receding. He's stepping away. "Say you need me."

"Stop playing games, Geoffrey!"

He responds, more insistent. "Tell me how much you need me."

Fine, he wins this round. I'm pretty sure no one's nearby, but I lower my voice as I say, "Geoffrey, I don't know what I'd do without you. You are the most important person in my life. You make it worth living. I need you so much." My teeth chatter. "And right now, I really, really need that umbrella!"

Footsteps rush over to me and the rain is gone. I shake the water off my glasses, and we start to head inside.

Geoffrey's got a triumphant smile on his face. "Why do you have to wait for times like this to say those great things?"

"Because," I grumble, "otherwise I would never want to say them?"

It looks like I'm in trouble of losing the umbrella again, so I grab Geoffrey's hand. He misinterprets the situation, and steals a kiss. I break away and almost step out from under the umbrella.

"What was that?"

"A kiss, Chuck." He gives me a quizzical look.

"SHHHHHHHHH!" I wave him off before he can blab any more. "We're at school!"

Geoffrey gives me a disparaging look. "There's no one here, Chuck. Our cars are the only ones parked out here. No one's coming in, and for once, I have the upper hand."

I'm with him until the last bit. "What?"

He grins. It's not a little devious, and also not the type of look I need from Geoffrey so early in the morning. "I have the umbrella. And though you could try to take it from me, I'd make sure you got drenched in the process." He leans forward and plants another kiss on my cheek. "My umbrella, my rules."

I'm stunned by his words, by this utter show of gall and cajones. It's frustrating, annoying, and incredibly appealing. I adore my submissive little Geoffrey, but nothing turns me on faster than him finding some way to pull rank.

I smile back and lean forward. "All right, then."

7:04 am, Friday Morning- Geoffrey

We finally walk into the school. I shake off my umbrella onto the carpet, and start unzipping my coats. The temperature was fine until a few minutes ago, but now I'm broiling in here. I smirk at Chuck, who returns my grin. He doesn't seem too cold anymore.

Still, I'm a bit worried. He is, after all, sopping wet, and needs some dry clothes. We're hoping to get together later, and the last thing I need is Chuck to get sick. He loses all pretense of romance and gets snarky. Something needs to be done.

"Come on over to my room," I say. "I always keep a change of clothes there, in case something happens to what I'm wearing." In case Chuck happens to what I'm wearing. You can't exactly walk around school like that afterwards. Too sticky. "You can borrow them."

Chuck snaps out a pleasant-looking reverie (probably one including yours truly), to look shocked. "Like that isn't a dead giveaway. No thanks, Geoffrey."

"Oh, come on. They're actually rather conservative."

Chuck snorts. "Conservative? For you, that could mean a bright orange sarong."

What? That's perfect for days at the beach! "Very funny. You need dry clothing, and no one's going to notice. The worst that could happen is that they think you're a hippie."

"That's just as bad, Geoffrey."

"C'mon, you could make it part of your lesson."

He throws up his hands. "We're discussing the social works of Ken Kessey! Hippies have no place in this unit."

I try another tactic. "Fine," I agree, lowering my head to look at the floor.

Chuck nods at me, then turns his head for a second look, surprised. "You're giving up so quickly?"

"Well, it was really a ploy to get you to undress in my room."

A smirk. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

We head off to my classroom. It's practically guaranteed. By the time the first bell rings, he'll be wearing my spare outfit.

7:30 am, Friday Morning- Chuck

"All right, hand in last night's homework. There are still some of you who have not yet finished the essay I assigned. Those people are as follows…"

I'm standing in front of the class reading out a list of people who owe me an essay. Quite conveniently, I tack on the names of the kids whose essays gave their grades in a futile attempt to keep me dry. None of them have proof that they turned the essays in. Hey, they can rewrite 'em.

Now I'm writing on the board, outlining the coming unit.

Now I'm standing in front of my desk, giving renegade students that look that earned me my rep (yes, I do have a rep).

Now I'm collecting papers. And all the while, I'm walking around in Geoffrey's clothes. They're surprisingly roomy. I've got a couple inches on him, but his taste in comfortable clothing leaves plenty of room for a man of taller stature.

I put on a powerpoint for the students to take notes, and start taking attendance. In my head, I can't help but review what happened this morning.

Geoffrey tricked me. He did a good job of it, too. I noticed his mood this morning, but filed it away too quickly. He's tricky and devious today. Makes for great sex, but inevitably makes for a tough day.

We made it to his classroom, all the while watching Geoffrey take off his various coats. Once we were behind a locked door, all the other layers of clothing came off.

In retrospect, it was a bad idea to try anything twenty minutes before classes were supposed to start. But I'd already had a rough morning, and Geoffrey's case was all too compelling. After five minutes, all my anger at the morning's misfortune was gone. Then things were a blur of Geoffrey's lips on my neck, his hands sliding down my skin…

Then the warning bell rang. It was five minutes to class, and the students' signal to get moving. It was also ours. Geoffrey and I had some experience at getting dressed quickly, so when he tossed me my clothing, it was all on in under a minute. The action was reflex, automatic. It wasn't until he stowed a wet pile of cloth into the supply closet and locked it that I realized he wasn't just hiding evidence. He'd locked up my clothing, and I was standing in slacks and a deep purple shirt.

I knew it! I looked like a hippie. I tried to tell him to give me back my clothes, but he propped open the door and students started to trickle in. I made an excuse about a discussion about decorations for some non-existent party, and hinted to Geoffrey that the boiler had been acting up again, (code for "Meet me in the boiler room") and left.

Now I'm waiting for lunch, in the hope that we can finish what we started this morning.

9:46 Friday Morning- Geoffrey

"Nice job on that Frisbee. I especially like the bright colors."

"It's not a Frisbee, it's a puffer fish."

I look at the painting again. "That's no puffer fish. I've eaten puffer fish before, and it wasn't nearly as colorful. There were a lot of bones, though." I pat the student on the shoulder and move on.

Jerri Blank is sitting at the next table over, sullenly scraping a dry paintbrush back and forth. Some bizarre study from crosshatching hell is left ripped into the canvas. I think she needs cheering up, so I sidle on over and ask her.

"Hey, Jerri. What's bothering me?"

She looks up from her empty painting. "Well, Mr. Jellineck, my friends just don't trust me. I have many amazing talents, but when I try to talk about them, nobody believes a word I say."

I give her a kind smile and mention that I "hope you don't include painting in those skills." She looks downcast, so I decide it's time for some encouraging advice. "Look, Jerri. As long as you keep talking, of course they won't believe you. You have to show them. Give them a good look. After all, a picture's worth a million words."

She looks quizzical. "I thought a picture was worth a thousand words."

I shake my head. "That's a myth propagated by novelists."

Jerri is emboldened by this new knowledge. She stands up proudly. "Yeah! I get what you're saying. What I need to do is go to the computer lab and doctor photos so it looks like I can do all that stuff I lied about being able to do!"

I gently guide her back to her seat. "How about you start by showing them in person what you _can_ do? Show those amazing talents of yours."

She doesn't seem to like that option as much as the other one. "But Mr. Jellineck, I told you, I don't really have any amazing talents. I lied."

"Come on Jerri, that's defeatist talk. Why shouldn't you be able to do what you can't do?"

The gleam is back in her eye. "You're right! Thanks, Mr. Jellineck. I'm gonna show those kids just what I can't do!"

"That's the spirit!"

Jerri runs out of the classroom, laughing merrily to herself. I feel satisfied that I've helped another one of the kids out. What would they do without me?

I spy a delinquent kid sneaking out the door. "Hey, there. No leaving class until the bell rings. I give detentions to kids who cut class."

He's indignant. "How come that girl got to leave? Huh? She can't do that!"

I smile back and nod. "You're certainly right. She can't do that."

11:15 Friday Morning- Chuck

"Mr. Noblet? Mr. Jellineck wanted me to bring this to you. Says it has something about the clothing you left in his room?"

Why the hell is Geoffrey such an idiot? He sends a student in the middle of class to interrupt with something like that out loud? I know that deep down, he'd like nothing better than to tell everyone about us, but I'm just not ready for that yet. Can't he at least try to understand that? If he can't treat this matter with the respect and delicacy it deserves, I'll bribe some students to slash his tires.

I take the manila envelope, laugh it off and say "Oh, yeah, I donated some costumes for the school play. He's still got them. I'd probably better get them back. They do belong to my wife, after all." The kid's still staring. "What? It's a perfectly acceptable reason for me to leave articles of clothing in another teacher's room. I mean, why else would they be in there?" She's still there. I wave her off, fingertips missing her face by about an inch, and say "Go back to class!"

All in all, rather smoothly handled. I notice that the manila envelope is covered with duct tape at either end. No part of the envelope has been breached. I'm impressed. Geoffrey had the sense to make sure no one could open it without getting caught. I open my desk and pull out a carving knife (you never know when you'll need one), and start hacking open the envelope.

"So class," I continue my lesson, "I need you to open your American government books to page 39, in the section on our nation's presidents." This duct tape is really rolled on there. But I continue on, not breaking a sweat, and certainly not cursing under my breath at Geoffrey's choice of packaging.

"There's always been debate on the qualities of leadership (stupid knife won't cut), and people always argue over which of our esteemed leaders have been the (this isn't coming **open**!) best. Well, the mystery is nearly solved here, as top historians, among them the Arthur Schlesinger Professor of American Studies at Harvard, have decided that (shit, almost had it there) the worst president of the United States was one Warren G. Harding."

Panting at the effort, I put everything down for a second. "Kristen, why don't you read? Page 39, in the blue box at the bottom of the page."

While the freshman reads the textbook's condemnation of Warren G. Harding, I sit back at my desk and savagely attack Geoffrey's note, eventually getting it open. Finally. I pull the now-crumpled note out of the mess that once was paper and tape, smooth it out, and read it.

Chuck,

Hey. Sorry about tricking you earlier. Don't worry. I decided on a whim that it was all for the best. Tell you what. I'll buy lunch, and we can eat it together. I've been told that we're having tacos today. I know you can't resist anything Mexican.  Meet you in the teacher's lounge.

Geoffrey

As I shove the note into my desk, I feel better. I couldn't be angry at him after an apology like that.

11:52 am, Friday Morning- Jerri

"C'mon, Jerri. You don't have to prove anything." Monkey boy is one of the many kids standing around the door, watching. Unlike the others, he's trying to talk me out of it. But it's only a little destruction of school property. And. If you think about it, nothing's really getting broken. So what do I have to worry about?

"Sorry, Orlando," I say, "but no one's listening to your advice today. Could you hand me that shiv you carry around?"

Orlando looks confused. "You mean my potting shovel?"

"Eh, same diff. The point's sharp enough to gut a con, it's sharp enough to do what I need." He hands it over, and I turn to the door handle. Over my shoulder, I give a wink (or three, lost count somewhere in there) to that cute Kristen girl from Noblet's class, and then get to work dismantling.

In less than a minute, I've taken off the whole plate, reversed it, and put it back on. The last thing I do is stick the shovel in and lock the lock. "There." I carelessly toss it back to Orlando. It's a pretty cool moment.

Until the point hits him in the head and he falls over. "Whoops. Sorry 'bout that." He gets up, holding his head. "But back to what I was doing. The locks here in school got nothing on the clink. Back in Florida, my cellmate was always getting us out." I jerk a thumb at the lock, "Now it'll lock the janitor in when he decides to take a quick smoke break. When will those lazy immigrant workers learn?"

The kids look mildly impressed. Kristen smiles and says, "That's pretty cool, Jerri."

I sidle up to her and out an arm around her shoulder. "I learned a lot more than that in Florida. Why don't you have lunch with me, and I'll you aaalll about it."

Even though she brushes my arm off, I can tell she wants me. Oh yeah. Just a matter of time.

11:57 am, Friday morning- Geoffrey

Lunch trays in hand, I head toward the boiler room. The meal cost more than I had expected (I feel the kids' pain, dang price raises), so I hope Chuck appreciates that I bought lunch.

I know I told him to go to the teacher's lounge, but I doubt he'll show up there. He said the boiler room earlier, and he hates being contradicted nearly as much as he fears getting caught. Eating in the teacher's lounge would annoy him on both levels, and as I'm feeling oddly charitable today, I head downstairs.

I wave at a couple kids as they pass by. I see Jerri trying to seduce a freshman, and she waves back.

"Great advice, Mr. Jellineck. This girl's in the bag." She looks back over at the freshman. "Or rather, the sack."

The freshman rolls her eyes and walks away. Jerri glares at me as if her misfortune were my fault. "Good job, scaring her off like that. Now I'll have to start all over."

"I'd love to stay and not help you out some more, Jerri, but I need to get to the boiler room for lunch."

Jerri looks surprised and suspicious. "Why do you want to go there?"

I cover, for Chuck's sake. "I'm seeing if the furnace could be another kiln. It's hotter, so it should fire pots quicker."

"Well, you have a good lunch in there." Jerri walks off, laughing, shoulder shaking. "Boiler room."

What could that be about?

12:05 pm, Friday afternoon- Chuck

I get to the teacher's lounge a little late, but Geoffrey isn't here yet, so I settle into an armchair and wait for him to get here with the food. I'd rather be eating in the boiler room, but if he's buying, I suppose the least I can do is accept his venue.

Onyx Blackman and Cherri Wolf walk in, discussing some acquisition for the next gym semester.

"So how much would it set us back to purchase cabers?" Onyx asks.

"Well, the cabers I can get cheap, it's the new mitts that would rack up the prices."

"Mitts?" Onyx raises an eyebrow. "Why would we need those?"

"For the caber _catching_."

"No, no, I understand that," Onyx dismisses the response with a wave of his hand, "if you toss a caber, someone has to catch it. But do the students really need protection during this sport?"

Cherri thinks about this. "Well, if there's one thing I've learned from teaching health class, it's that kids hate protection. You're right. It's an unnecessary expense."

They pick up their lunches from the fridge, and go off to the faculty lunchroom. More teachers come and go, but Geoffrey isn't among any of them. I wait patiently (I only grumble and curse Geoffrey in my head, not out loud), but when the bell rings, signaling the end of our lunch period, I have to accept that Geoffrey blew me off.

What's his problem? I haven't done anything to make him mad. If anything, I'm the one who should have refused to show up.

I leave the lounge and head for my classroom. The next time I see Geoffrey, I fully intend on making his life miserable.

12:50 pm, Friday Afternoon- Geoffrey

I gather the now-empty trays (what? When I get bored, I eat!) and head up the stairs. Chuck didn't come. Is he still mad at me? Why hasn't he forgiven me already? How could he stay mad at me? And why won't this door open?

I try turning the handle both ways. Nope. Got nothing. I put the trays down and try to pull the handle harder. I push the door, then try to pull it open. Nothing's working. In frustration, I kick the door.

All things considered, I am rather a brilliant person. I can work in any medium to express whatever ideas float through my head. And you can bet your boots that they're all exceptional ideas. I'm also rather clever at problem solving, helping people get through their daily troubles.

Well, this last idea really isn't one of my best.

When I kick the door, I slip on one of the lunch trays and fall backwards. And there are sixteen stairs worth of fall. There isn't even carpet, for crying out loud! I tumble backwards, groaning and crying as my head, back, and limbs bounce against the steps. When I finally reach the ground, gravity has once last surprise for me. The tray I knocked loose has slid down after me, and it conks me on the noggin.

Bruised in every conceivable area and with a massive headache looming, I climb back up the stairs, and start to pound on the door, hollering for someone to come and help.

"HELLO! IT'S MEEE! GEOFF-!"

Then I stop. Yelling is not doing wonders for my head. Things are also a little fuzzy, so I go back to the bottom of the stairs and sit down.

So, I'm locked in. No big deal, really. I'm not the boiler room's biggest fan, and we haven't gotten off to the best start, but I'm sure that we can put aside our differences and get along. Right?

In that particular moment of hope, when I am regaining my sunny outlook, the lights choose to go out. And leave me in the dark. There isn't even a bit of light shining through the crack under the door. The room is drenched in my least favorite color. Black.

"GOD_DAMM_IT!"


End file.
